The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight

by Lynne Connolly

  Outside his apartment building, he handed the cab driver a fifty. “If you won’t let me take you, let me do this.” His pleading expression made her laugh, but she still felt bad for letting him. Gloom descended on her, contrasting her excitement when she’d left home to come here.

  He closed the door behind her and watched as the cab drove off. Never to cross paths again, probably.

  He’d look up a Kristen Lowe from Des Moines, maybe find one or two, but he wouldn’t find her. But he’d discover her story of being a famous European star was a fallacy. Oh, shit, why not put the right label on it? A downright lie. However much he’d provoked her, she shouldn’t have done it.

  The cab drove out of the city, toward her brother’s place. Not having a car would inconvenience her. She’d call the number Nathan had given her, probably get the car she’d left behind towed to the nearest town, and go from there. Although she never wanted to see it again, she might be able to sell it and get something else.

  If she didn’t get the job at the ballet, she’d have to get a waitressing job. Maybe work in a store somewhere. She’d done that before. And she could get around on the L train.

  She was thinking defeat before she got there. Even after doing courses in assertion and confidence, she still fell into that trap. It came from years of rejections, being told to her face that she wasn’t as good as the other people there.

  But oh, it was good to see her brother standing outside the student house, arms wide in welcome when Kristen climbed out of the cab. But even she didn’t expect to fall into his arms and burst into tears.

  * * * *

  Stu was studying at St. Paul, doing a good job by all accounts. He’d passed his first year and was well into his sophomore, and lived in a house he shared with two other students.

  It was nice to get a room of her own, especially since she hadn’t expected it. She’d thought her brother would put her on the sofa, but one of the students had moved on, so she could take this one. A tiny room but still good. Her luggage had arrived, thank fuck, because it held all her dancing gear, and it waited for her. She’d sent it a week ago, before the storm.

  Already patches of green were showing through the snow in the scrappy front yards of this district.

  Stuart took Kristen’s tears as stress over the storm, and Kristen let him think that way. Sitting at the kitchen table eating the plateful of grilled bacon and eggs that Stuart had cooked for her, Kristen let herself grow away from the experience of the last twenty-four hours.

  Except she let the name slip. “It was okay, a huge house in the middle of the country. Really beautiful.” She paused to take a mouthful of egg. “Two men lived there, but the housekeeper too.” She made it sound as if she spent most of her time with the housekeeper. “It was kind of them to take me in.”

  Stu snorted. “What else could they do? Let you die at their gates? What were their names?”

  “Cora—”

  “Not the housekeeper. The men! Were they rich?”

  Devastatingly so. “I guess. Above my touch, anyhow.”

  Stu grinned. “Interesting way of putting it. Still reading those historical books?”

  She shrugged. Her secret vice wasn’t so secret in family circles. She adored times gone by, and one of her ambitions was to make it to England one day. Scotland, as well. She wanted to explore all the places she read about. “When I can.”

  Nobody saw her e-reader. It was packed with historical romances, Regencies in particular. She gobbled them up, and since Jane Austen had only written half a dozen books, Kristen was always on the lookout for more stories about her favorite era. “When I have the time.”

  “Would either of the men you spent the night with last night have worked in Regency times?”

  At least she could still laugh. The thought of the powerhouses that were Dalton and Nathan in the immaculate tailoring and embroidered vests of the early nineteenth century made her smile. On the other hand, she could picture them all too well in tight breeches. Mmm, nice.

  Well, she might have said good-bye to them that morning, but she had her dreams. Maybe she’d find a store that would sell her a little aid, although nothing would ever feel as good as Nathan’s cock driving hard and sure inside her welcoming pussy.

  “Maybe. Not aristocrats, but prize fighters and gang leaders.”

  “That sounds interesting. What were their names?”

  “Dalton and Nathan.”

  “Did they have last names?”

  “Dalton Thorndyke. I didn’t catch the other.”

  Stu shot her a suspicious glance, then recognition sparked something. He got out his phone and swiped it open. “I’ve heard that name before. Give me a minute.” Rapidly, he entered the text in the browser, then raised his brows and handed the phone over. “Is this him?”

  “Yes.” Unmistakably Dalton Thorndyke, but dressed in a tux that had obviously been made for him. Rapidly Kristen revised her opinion. He wore the clothes with polish, an air of entitlement. Underneath, she read why. He was as wealthy as Nathan. Maybe the house belonged to him. She’d just assumed it was Nathan’s. Dalton owned a chain of hotels; other things too. He was seriously rich.

  Wow. For a moment, her finger hovered over the browser, but she forced it away. She didn’t want to know. Nathan was above her touch, and she’d had him for a night. He probably worked with Dalton in some capacity. She didn’t care, and she didn’t want to know. If she found out, she’d forever think of him, and she wanted the memory of last night to remain intact with all its clouds and angels. Nathan could be anything, anyone that way. It didn’t matter what he did or was in real life. “Yes, that’s one of the men.”

  Stu gave a long, low whistle.

  “Hey, my sister the famous dancer making influential friends.”

  She gave him a baleful look. “Aspiring.”

  “No, you dance. I’ve seen you. Just that you need the right break.”

  It was getting too late for that. Already she’d learned different forms of dance, looking for openings in contemporary dance studios and even musicals, although competition there was just as fierce. She was thinking of getting a job teaching, but this last break, the chance of an audition at a prestigious ballet house, had driven her right back to the beginning, hope burgeoning.

  She changed the subject. “Where do you work, Stu?”

  “In a bar. Weird place, gothic-themed. You know, vampires and bats and shit like that. I have to wear black to work, but other than that, blood’s not compulsory.”

  So Stu was a Goth? Somehow she doubted that. He wasn’t wearing black now but a checked shirt and jeans.

  At least one of them had landed on their feet.

  “If your audition doesn’t pan out, come around. The boss is looking for bar staff.”

  So another job in a bar. Great. The audition had better be good. Kristen set her mind and her heart to doing the best job possible tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  “Sorry, you’re not quite what we’re looking for.”

  The voice came out of the dark, but she recognized the man who’d greeted her brusquely on her arrival at the theater. She’d done everything she could, performed her steps crisply and with verve, but that hadn’t been enough.

  Too many applicants, too few jobs.

  Her heart plummeted, the familiar words iced her very soul. Kristen went to every audition with hope and a certainty that she would get this one, that this was the break she needed. But before she’d come, she’d known this was it. At her age, she wouldn’t get many more chances. If she’d gotten in to the corps de ballet, the job might have led to solos, and it would’ve been regular work. Something she could build on.

  With those few words, her career in ballet was effectively over. There were too many kids coming up through the ranks, too many talented dancers vying for the same jobs. She’d done her best, and it wasn’t good enough.

  She did as always, smiled, thanked the bastard, and left.

  Ti
me for a rethink.

  She left the theater via the stage door. Probably the last time she’d ever use a stage door as a potential performer. If she came back, it would be as a dresser or wardrobe assistant. She couldn’t even think about it right now.

  Kristen needed her brother. Her family. She could tell Stu, cry on his shoulder, and he wouldn’t tell anybody. Ten years lay between them, and that had made them close when her brother’s many childhood illnesses had meant she had done a lot of reading and playing computer games with him. Thankfully he had mostly grown out of the illnesses, with just a touch of asthma left, but the friendship remained. They’d discovered what they needed in each other and continued to do so.

  Her failure would grieve her parents, who had always been excited by her choice of career. She wouldn’t tell them yet. She’d let them come to terms with it gradually. The jolt that had pierced her heart when she’d heard the inevitable words shouldn’t be transmitted to anyone else with that kind of brutality.

  A heavy dullness invaded her mind, spreading through her heart and numbing her senses. Perhaps she’d always known. But when she’d received the audition call, the usual exhilaration had filled her. This time she’d make it in the world she loved, the one she’d worked for all her life. She’d sacrificed school grades for it, gone to dance classes when she should have been studying. The only thing she’d done well at in school was music.

  There was an outside chance she’d find a job somewhere, but she couldn’t kid herself with dreams of stardom or even a steady job at a good dance theater. Times were tight all around, and people who had the jobs were hanging on to them. Companies were cutting down on staff, presenting smaller, more “intimate” work that needed fewer dancers.

  She had no idea what she’d do now. Fall back on her secondary career. Get a waitressing or bar job. Just until she worked something out. Because in many ways she was starting anew. Twenty-eight wasn’t too late to start a career in many fields. Maybe she could do theater admin, something like that. Watch others accomplish what she’d failed to do.

  A bitter taste filled her mouth.

  She stopped, looked around. Somehow, she’d found her way to the Bean. The big silver creation was supposed to be a cloud, but the Chicagoans had taken one look at it and rechristened it. It looked more like a bean than a cloud to her too.

  Reflected in the shiny surface of the sculpture, her figure, a small blue shape, blended with all the others. Tourists took photos of their friends and snapped innumerable selfies with the Bean. They’d have her on there too. A disappointed dancer in incongruous waterproof boots. She’d borrowed the boots from one of the students in the house that morning because hers were completely ruined after her trek through the snow to Nathan’s estate. The promised snowstorm hadn’t appeared, and already the snow was turning to slush under the hard work of the snowplows.

  She’d go see Stu. He was working today. Maybe she’d have a few drinks to drown her sorrows and take the bar job he said he could get for her.

  She caught a bus to take her up Michigan Avenue.

  The bus passed the stores, their windows filled with tempting items she couldn’t afford. Then they passed the Water Tower. Then farther until the vehicle reached the small clubs, the blues district where other people had come to Chicago with big ideas. For every Muddy Waters, there must have been someone like her, someone who had dreams and ideas, may have been as good as Muddy but didn’t get the breaks.

  No, she couldn’t think that way. If she did, she’d end up embittered and sour. Fame hadn’t happened for her, that was all. Nobody was to blame. But she could tell herself that until she was blue in the face. She still resented every ballerina who’d ever danced Princess Aurora, every Odette, because that ballerina wasn’t her.

  Time to disembark. A shame. She liked the bus, shiny and modern and full of chattering people.

  She pausing to check her phone and take stock of her surroundings. The afternoon was just beginning to lengthen, the shadows deepening. She had nothing else to do; she might as well go see her brother. Then get the L back to his place. No reason she shouldn’t pack up and go home, but if she did, her mother would know she’d given up. Besides, she had more chance of getting something going here than at home.

  River North had some interesting stores too. They might be looking for someone to help out. She lingered to peer into a few windows before she reached the street where Stu worked. It led off a main street, and she paused, gazing at a tray of jewelry in an exclusive store. Beautifully designed items winked back at her, taunting her.

  Sighing, she turned away and nearly collided with a man coming straight for her. He was as pale-faced as she’d ever seen in her life, his hair black, his clothes matte black and deliberately creased. He sported a few studs on his clothes and his face, and he stared at her in challenge.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled and moved on, but the distraction had put her off her stride, and she looked up to get her bearings.

  The MASKERADE sign told her where she was. That chain was making some impact these days. It was a group of strip-cum-dance clubs, the dance adding respectability so women could go there.

  While a strip club might only attract men, adding the dance, plus some hunky male dancers, made it a mixed-sex venue. Clever, but although she’d read about the place, she’d never considered them as potential employers. She was too concentrated on ballet and contemporary dance.

  She peered at the photographs outside. Just two, one of a couple discreetly in shadow but obviously naked, posed in what looked like a flamenco step. And the others more flamboyant, the woman barely clothed, the skirts of her salsa dress flung high.

  They appeared stylish. She paused. The entrance was discreet, marble and unsmudged smoked glass. The man who stood just inside the door was dressed not in the obvious tux or flashy uniform but in a smart lounge suit. The very big man, obviously one of the club’s bouncers.

  She shifted the bag containing her dance gear to her other hand and took a step away from the photos.

  The man beckoned, crooking his finger at her.

  A sense of fatalism filled her. What did he think she was? Before she could push the door, he opened it for her, smiled, and gave her a once-over. “Are you here for the auditions?”

  “I—” He had to be joking.

  He tilted his head to one side. “Come on, you’re a dancer, aren’t you? I can spot you people a mile off.” He nodded at her bag—a sports bag with her shoes and dance gear in it. “You looked like you were going to run. There’s no need. The auditions are open, first come first served. You’ll probably be last, but I can put you in there.”

  That sounded suspiciously like he was looking for a favor. “Thank you, but—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  What was she thinking? She couldn’t work at one of these clubs. They’d never let her in a ballet theater again. Then again, they weren’t letting her in now…

  His brown eyes shrewdly took in her appearance. “This is the first Maskerade club. The first and the best.” He puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back. “We lead the way.”

  She’d bet they paid more than union rates, and a place like this would want bar and waitstaff as well as dancers. That would work for a while. Maybe she’d look into taking a job here, if they’d have her. This was a new market than the one she was used to and a completely different circuit, but it was all dance. She could do this.

  The dancers weren’t entirely naked, and she was used to exposing her body. She’d done some contemporary dance in an effort to broaden her range. As long as it wasn’t explicit. Erotic, sure, but pornographic? Not a chance. At least, she didn’t think so, although the difference between the two escaped her. She was no expert, as she’d proved to Nathan the night before last. Already her experience with Nathan seemed so long ago, as if it had happened to somebody else.

  After he returned to Chicago, he’d have forgotten her. He’d have women falling over themselves to get to him
. And she’d have recovered from their affair. It would be a pleasant memory, and they could meet as friends. Distant acquaintances, more like.

  This was the best offer she’d had all day. Apart from that, she wanted to prove herself, to show she could do something. “What’s your name?”

  “Smokey,” the man said. “On account of me being as big as a bear and my first name being Joe.” He shrugged when she frowned. “You don’t know Smokey the Bear? Or Smokin’ Joe Frasier, the boxer?”

  For the first time that day, she smiled. “That’s going back some.”

  “People remember. What can I say?” Smokey gave a sweet smile, his teeth flashing with the whiteness of the cosmetically enhanced or the fake. Probably the latter, if his battered ear was any guide. Instinctively she liked him, trusted him, and when he touched her elbow to guide her in the right direction, she didn’t flinch back.

  Why the fuck not go for the audition?

  What did another rejection matter in a long line of them?

  * * * *

  Nathan glanced out the window that overlooked the main floor of the club.

  Even by day it didn’t look sleazy, more like an exclusive dining room.

  Which was what he meant it to be, one day. He was considering using the clubs by day as well. It seemed criminal to let the time between the cleaners leaving and the club opening go to waste. A dinner or lunch club seemed ideal. That would give them time to clean up and rearrange the tables for the evening session.

  He’d dropped by to discuss the matter with his manager Vella, another Talent.

  In appearance, she was middle-aged because she’d kept her daughter with her. She had to look like the mother of a young adult. Children were rare and precious commodities to Talents, so Vella would have given up her youthful appearance gladly. Vella gave the appearance of well-maintained, mature woman, from her shiny brunette bob to the tip of her stilettoed feet and everywhere in between. And it was obvious she knew what she was up to. The books were well kept, and the club’s profits were maintained. But not increased.